


The Right Man

by Jaydee_Faire



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Gen, Reluctant Hero
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-11 03:05:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18421521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaydee_Faire/pseuds/Jaydee_Faire
Summary: Link sometimes wishes that some kind of mistake has been made.





	The Right Man

He stopped at the top of the hill, set his pack down, and then threw himself down beside it, letting out a long breath that seemed to take all his remaining energy with it. Just for a moment, he told himself. Just for a moment.

He'd walked most of the day, beginning in town and following a well-worn path for a few hours before stepping off of it and into the vast grasslands. He rarely worried about getting lost: he was well supplied and fit enough to hike out of wherever he'd hiked into, and besides, if he ever found himself out of rations in hostile territory, that _thing_ knew the way back.

He could feel the weight of it now, on his hip. He kept his eyes on the sky. Looking at it now wasn't going to change anything. He'd spent hours, before, combing through every piece of data contained in it, looking for-- something, something more than maps and charts and catalogs that assumed he was someone he wasn't. He'd turned it over and over, hoping he'd missed some crucial piece of information that would lead to the relief he craved. 

Once, on a particularly bad night, he'd thrown it as hard as he could against a rock. The thing had bounced off without a scratch, and had landed in the dirt and glared at him accusingly with its one weeping eye until he'd picked it up again and put it back in its place.

He'd stopped fighting it weeks ago, around the time he'd met Yunobo. Maybe he wasn't the right person for this task, maybe what he'd suspected-- and prayed-- all along was true, there had been some sort of mistake, and he was being dragged along in a fight that wasn't his. 

But these people needed help, and there was no one else. 

Frightened and exhausted and confused, yes. But he wasn't so selfish that he'd let someone suffer, if he knew there was something he could do about it. He'd picked up a sword, back there in the forest, and as soon as he'd touched it he'd _known_ how to use it. He knew how to move, how to fight-- it was as easy as standing up and walking, though he didn't remember learning how to do either, as if the knowledge had just been dropped, whole, into his brain.

There was that, too: those flashes of memory that disturbed him during the day and plagued him at night, turning what might have been restful sleep into a horrible whirl of color and emotion, people shouting, jabs of pain and terror, that feeling of hopelessness. More often than not these days he woke in a cold sweat, having kicked his way out of his bedroll. Once, he woke with a sword in his hand, trying to defend himself from... something. 

The memories seemed connected to each other, but it was like watching a play, characters moving and speaking to each other in a world that had nothing to do with him. Thinking of them, those too-bright, too-vivid images that sprang up at random, made his heart feel heavy. 

Worse, they woke the Other One.

The Other One was the one who moved his feet in weaving patterns like a dance, keeping him out of reach of an enemy's claws. The Other One pointed out smoke and activity on the horizon and told him to shift his grip on his pack, ready to kick it clear and draw his weapon. The Other One looked through his eyes at maps and monsters and people and knew something about each, though sometimes he only divulged what he knew at random. 

The Other One _pulled_ at him, night and day, insisting he go to the castle on a suicide mission. Quieting him was harder lately than usual. It was better to stay out of sight of that dark, ruined place, because when the Other One saw it he'd roar up in an explosion of anger and outrage so strong that it would leave him staggering, spots before his eyes. He was afraid that if he didn't hold on, the Other One would take control of him and lead the both of them into certain death.

He couldn't-- he wouldn't. Not there. He told himself that there were things to do, there were people that needed help first, that a tale about a maiden and a hideous beast locked in an eternal struggle was just that: a tale, and that he should concern himself with real things that were happening before him, not an insane quest to fight... whatever was up there. 

He told himself that it was more sensible to stay away from that place, though truthfully his palms sweat and his body shook while the Other One raged each time he thought about it. He'd stay here, laying in the grass, where the sun felt good on his skin and the breeze carried a scent of wildflowers growing in the lee of the hill. Just for a few more moments. 

But his jaw was clenched and the tension wouldn't leave his shoulders, and soon he was up again, shouldering his pack and starting back down the grassy slope to where he could see a road in the distance. He knew, without having to look at the map, that the road led towards the castle. He'd let himself be pulled along for a little while, to satisfy the thing growling inside him. Then he'd turn back toward the stable in hopes that being amongst the noise and smell of people would make him feel normal again.

Link trudged on, alone, playing the role he was given and trying to quash the quiet hope that someone was coming to save him.

**Author's Note:**

> I started playing botw again so I could have my ass repeatedly handed to me by the Sword Trials, and then I wrote this.


End file.
